Feeling Like This
by EvilSatsuma
Summary: When Hermione leaves 3 year husband Ron Weasley for good, she finds herself hiding out at The Burrow in a miserable state. But one thing she didn’t bargain on was the presence of Charlie Weasley, the easygoing, handsome dragon keeper from Romania…
1. I want a divorce

Category: Harry Potter  
Title: Feeling Like This  
Genre: Romance/Drama  
Rating: Fiction Rated: M

A/N: I'm really annoyed with my computer, which decided to delete my story from both my HD and the site, so I have been forced to repost chapter 1 from scratch. Especially I would like to thank **slightsav** and **XxDarkFirexX **for being so patient with me over all of this.

I don't usually write Charlie/Hermione fics, but I figure that fan fiction is there to play around with these characters' lives :D

Warnings: Mature content (language, relationships and not a little smut and fluff) Don't like, don't read.

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine; I'm just borrowing them to see what happens.

On with the fic! (Again)

* * *

"I mean, how _could _you, Ronald Weasley? How could you do something…like that, to me?" Hermione paced back and forth in front of her husband of three years, her hands gesticulating wildly and her wand, poking out from the pocket of her robes, sending angry red sparks into the air.

From his position cowering on the sofa, the sparks were flying too close for comfort above his messy red hair. His face was scowling as he leaned away from the screaming mad woman, but the shaking hands and bitten lip revealing his true feelings. He was utterly petrified of her, but somehow couldn't quite help biting back.

"It's not my fault if you decided to come home early-"

"How _dare_ you blame me? What, "Oh, Hermione. Sorry if you happen to come home early from work to find me shagging some blonde tart, but really it's your fault for being here..."?"

"Her _name_ is Amanda, and yes it is your fault!"

"How in Merlin's name do you work that out, Mr I-Can't-Keep-My-Penis-To-Myself-While-My-Wife's-At-Work?" Hermione stopped squarely in front of him, hands on hips, feet planted firmly into the carpet.

He'd had enough, and stood suddenly, trying to use his height to some advantage over his out of control wife.

"It's because you're _not _here most of the time that I decided to go out and meet somebody else! Have you ever thought that I might get a bit frustrated by myself whilst you're away on your week-long business trips? Of course not! All you ever think about is work!"

His wife stopped pacing and looked straight into his cool blue eyes with her dark, piercing ones.

"You're right. I never imagined that you would get frustrated- if you loved me like you said you did when you married me then you would understand how important my work is to me, and respect that!"

Hermione crossed to the fireplace and picked up two suitcases and her worn cat basket containing Crookshanks, before turning to face her husband for her parting jibe. She looked him up and down with obvious distaste, her nose wrinkled in revulsion against the two-timing, home-wrecking git that he was.

"Obviously, Ronald, I was wrong." And with that, she turned sharply on her heel and marched into the fireplace, cast a handful of green powder into the flame and yelled "The Burrow!"

The last thing he saw of her as she began to spin was the defiant, tear streaked face of the most beautiful girl he had ever known. She had gone.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting in the kitchen, drinking bedtime cocoa and sharing a copy of The Daily Prophet at the table, both clad in night attire when she arrived in the sitting-room hearth.

"Good evening, Mr and Mrs Weasley."

Hermione stood in the doorway between sitting room and kitchen, a travel case in either hand and a cat-basket carrying Crookshanks under one arm.

Her face was pale and drawn, and her eyes and cheeks glistened with recent tears that were still tracking silently down her face.

The Weasley's turned, startled to see their daughter-in-law in their kitchen so late at night.

"Hermione, dear! What ever is the matter? Where's Ron?" Mrs Weasley rushed forwards to embrace the young woman and pat her consolingly on the back. Mr Weasley stood back, forehead creased anxiously as he noted both the tears and the suitcases still clasped tightly in Hermione's hands.

"What happened, love? Here, come and sit down..."

"Thanks, Molly. Arthur."

She nodded politely to the two and took her seat shakily, setting down the basket and cases as though only just realising they were still in her possession, and placed her hands together, twisting her rings agitatedly atop the kitchen table before reaching an inner decision and removing them all. She set them down on the table one by one.

"I want a divorce."

* * *

A/N: OK, so there you have it. Ooh the drama, I know. I'll try and post the next chapter quickly, but in the meantime, there is a very friendly looking blue button begging to be clicked... D 


	2. How many fingers?

Category: Harry Potter  
Title: Feeling Like This  
Genre: Romance/Drama  
Rating: Fiction Rated: M

A/N: Wow, I've already got so many people sending me messages and reviews, as well as the people on story/author alert, which is really touching. Hopefully I won't drive you all away with this chapter, which is much longer than the first and really just sets up the main story. :D

Warnings: Mature content (language, relationships and not a little smut and fluff- quite graphic) Please- I don't want flames for corrupting minds- don't read if you don't want to be exposed to that sort of content.

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine; I'm just borrowing them to see what happens.

* * *

"I want a divorce." 

Contrary to her ideas of how she thought her parents-in-law would react to this news, neither spoke for what felt like half an hour, but was probably only five.

It was definitely the longest five minutes of Hermione's life to date as she waited for the Mrs Weasley-shaped axe to fall…but it never came.

Instead, Mr Weasley just nodded his head gravely, and his wife pulled her into another rib-crushing hug.

"I knew it. Had to happen…" And Molly Weasley was off, simultaneously patting her daughter-in-law consolingly on the back, holding onto her husband's arm for support and trying unsuccessfully to hold back her own tears.

"Molly…Arthur. I'm so sorry! Really I am, and I want to explain. Explain why…well," Hermione pulled herself gently out of Mrs Weasley's enveloping arms and straightened her robes, pushing tears away from her face with a sleeve.

"Just start from the beginning, dear." Mr Weasley said, gazing at her with disappointed yet kindly eyes as she began. For a fraction of a second, Hermione was reminded of Dumbledore- Mr Weasley's own hair was fast approaching a similar silvery sheen, and his eyes blue and friendly. He wrapped an arm around his wife comfortingly and nodded again.

"Well…the thing is…" Hermione looked at her clasped hands once more for support before continuing.

"I came home this evening after one of my business trips to Paris to find Ron whowasinbedwithanotherwoman." She said this last part very quickly, hoping to avoid some sort of outburst from either parent. No such luck this time.

"He WHAT?" Roared Mrs Weasley, jumping up so suddenly her ample frame toppled the bench she had been sitting on with her husband a moment before. Arthur picked himself off the floor, but said nothing. For once he was quite happy to let the terror that was Mrs Weasley reign free.

"He did _what?_"

Hermione gasped out "He…he had…with another…" And then Hermione broke down completely and fled the room, seeing the incident over and over in her mind as she ran up the stairs to Ginny's old bedroom.

…………..

_It was dark when she had finally arrived outside their apartment, two days earlier than her husband would be expecting. She hoped to surprise him._

_Taking her wand from her pocket, she magically unlocked the door and crept up the stairs to the second floor, noticing nothing except a quite, rhythmical thumping noise, which she dismissed at once as the antics of the mad wizard who co-habited the flat below with several newts (all of which had names, as she had discovered on the one occasion she had agreed to newt-sit for a very, very long weekend. She shuddered at the memory- never again.)_

_Creeping now through her flat towards the bedroom, she registered the mess- take-out cartons littered every surface and in the kitchen were two half filled wine glasses._

"_Odd," she thought to herself, as her walked stealthily over to the bedroom. "Ron and Harry must have had a boys night in."_

_On opening the door, however, revealed the truth._

_Ron was in there, naked, freckled back exposed to her as he moved his hips under the covers, sweat sticking his covered lower half to the thin sheets. He moaned and began to move faster, and bent his head lower to capture the mouth of a stranger in his own in a passionate kiss. _

_Hermione stood paralysed in the doorway, unable to move or form a word in her mouth which was opened in a mixture of horror and revulsion as her husband heaved away directly in front of her._

_Almost simultaneously, Ron and his 'new friend' cried out, and he moved to her side, breathing shallow breaths in time with the blonde's own rising and falling chest._

_Hermione had seen enough, somehow mustering the strength to slam the door closed on her husband- for good._

…………………………

Upon reaching Ginny's room, Hermione flung open the door and collapsed on the bed, arms covering the sides of her head as she lay face down, and began to sob.

She lay there for hours, wanting to stop the crying but found that it impossible. She was finding it hard to breathe, but even that didn't really bother her any more.

Mrs Weasley had come in to talk to her several times, her face chalk white with concern, but each time she had entered the room Hermione had asked her politely to leave through choked breaths and puffy eyes.

The one time Mr Weasley had come to visit, he had tried to pat her back gently, but Hermione shrank away, eyes looking daggers at him, though really she was sorry to be so cruel- it wasn't even her house.

After a while, however, no-one came to offer their condolences or half-hearted attempts to revive her from her almost comatose state of mind. She had stopped crying almost an hour ago, and now stared unblinkingly at the walls, occasionally stifling a dry sob.

Ginny's bedroom was light and airy- preferring baby blue to Barbie pink, and posters of dragons and quidditch players to fairies and winners of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award- or, as Ginny put it, winners of Witch Weekly's Most Brainless Smirk Award.

Hermione had just resigned herself to the fact that, sooner or later, she would have to go and apologise for her rude behaviour, so she sighed, got up, and walked out of the room and towards the bathroom, which Ginny had shared with her two oldest brothers on the second floor of the crooked house, to try and do some damage control on her blotchy, tear stained face.

She turned the handle quietly for fear of being discovered up and about too soon.

Walking in, however, she registered sound for the first time- she suspected that her crying marathon may have dulled her senses somewhat. The drain system was roaring and clanking merrily away (stupid cheerful drains) and she could hear tuneful whistling (stupid cheerful whistling), but thought nothing of them as she shut the door behind her and made her way towards the sink, which was situated opposite her in the surprisingly spacious bathroom.

With her back to the shower, she forgot all about the stupid, cheerful house with its stupid, cheerful sounds and went ahead with her face-washing plan. Or at least, that is, until the curtain surrounding the shower was scraped back along its rail, and the full force of falling water met her ears.

She spun round in alarm, and slipped on the damp bath mat which resulted in her tumbling into the tub and hitting her head on the tap. Hard.

Reaching up, Hermione felt her head gingerly, and tried to focus and refocus her eyes on the person now sitting on the side of the bath and who was waving three fingers in front of her face…or was it two hands with six fingers?

Slowly her vision cleared, and was able to make out the noise in her head as speech- someone was asking her how many fingers were held up.

"Uh…what?" She sat up slowly, propping her feet carefully on the bottom of the old bath to prevent herself from sliding back down and causing her head further injury- it was already throbbing and she could make out the beginning of a sizeable lump on her crown. The voice became clearer.

"Hermione! Okay, it's all okay. How many fingers am I holding up?" Hermione looked up at the person sitting above her, and noticed three, oddly reassuring, things.

One- he was wearing a towel, which was a relief- three naked people in one day might just drive her over the edge.

Two- he was a Weasley (red hair, freckles etc.) and

Three- he wasn't Ron.

"Three." She echoed, mimicking her inner voice, rather than registering the fingers still being waved frantically in her face. Luckily for her there were indeed three fingers, and she was hauled out of the bath.

It was only then that she realised who her rescuer was, and she smiled weakly, holding out her hand to shake from her position on the floor as he readjusted the towel about his hips.

"Hi, Charlie. Long time, no see."

* * *

A/N: And there you have it, chapter two. Sorry that it was more of an introduction/history but it needed to be done, so please don't get angry- hopefully my next few chapters will be more focussed on Hermione/Charlie. 

Finally- hurrah to the fellow Ron-haters. Personally, I think he's ok, but no way would those two end up together- how boring would that be, without any drama???

I will now invite you to press that cute little 'Go' button.


	3. Underneath the Apple Tree

A/N: Ok, the third chapter is here! Hurrah etc.

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah. Please don't make me cry over the fact that I don't own either Charlie Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black or Remus Lupin...It makes me very sad.

* * *

"Hey, Hermione, how're you feeling?"

It was much later that week when she ran into Charlie again, half-way up one of the many apple trees in the Weasley orchard.

She had stayed in Ginny's room for most of the time, only coming out for bathroom trips and dinner- the only meal Molly could get her to eat anymore- and had no visitors in all that lonely time.

Hermione knew for a fact that Mrs Weasley had even gone far enough in her rage to send her youngest son a howler so vociferous with rage and shame that it threatened to burst his eardrums upon opening, and was petrified over who else Molly had informed of her predicament.

This morning, however, coaxed her outside with warm autumn air and bright sunlight, although she was still reluctant to leave the safe haven of dark, quiet brooding space that was her bedroom, and only ventured out because she felt that everyone should at least see her 'feeling better', even if nothing could be farther from the truth.

She had been walking with a decidedly half-hearted air through the orchard when she had stumbled upon the second eldest of the Weasley boys, picking the apples and dropping them into a large wicker basket which hovered obligingly at elbow height for him to prevent the fruit bruising from a long drop to the ground.

His head was tilted forwards to look at her face as she walked closer to stand under his athletic frame, which stood propped up against the main fork of the apple tree's trunk, arms crossed and legs slightly bent.

"Oh, hey Charlie."

This only served to show him a glimpse of her, frankly shattered, soul before she looked away to gaze out over the garden, and he felt a wave of sadness wash over him as he watched her.

Tears pooled once more in her exhausted eyes and she scrubbed at them fiercely with the back of her hand, keeping her head turned away from Charlie as he jumped out of the tree behind her.

He made no attempt to comfort her, knowing that this would only make her cry harder. So instead he sat down with his back to the tree, and gestured for her to sit also. After a glance at the tanned, rough hand with a shiny burn on the wrist which he extended towards her, she did as he asked and sat, legs pulled up to her chest and arm wrapped tightly around her knees.

"Heard from Ginny lately?"

She shook her head, realising with a heavy heart that he wanted to ask her why she hadn't replied to the multiple owls she had sent Hermione after receiving news of the divorce. But Charlie obviously sensed this, so went on;

"She and Harry are decorating, you know- they finally decided to buy the house in Diagon Alley."

Surprising herself, Hermione snorted derisively, taking her head off her knees to look at him with bright, coffee coloured eyes. Charlie looked at her sideways, and she gave a small chuckle.

"Well, obviously he'd have to choose Diagon," she explained, smiling genuinely for the first time in a week as she saw a look of undisguised confusion pass Charlie's handsome face.

"Harry 'loves magic', remember? Anything that gets him closer to the wizarding world, he wants it…"

Charlie laughed, and offered her an apple from his basket of fruit now resting on the ground between them, scooting slightly closer to her as she accepted it and bit into the sweet flesh with visible enjoyment on her delicate features.

Charlie suspected that, though she wouldn't admit it, she was incredibly hungry and was punishing herself for her failed marriage, or something equally stupid. Asking her this wouldn't help though, so he kept on telling her snippets of family news, keeping the talk light and cheerful.

"Yeah, I see what you mean. Anyway, Ginny says that, what with the baby on the way and everything, there isn't much Harry will allow her to do. So in protest, she's gone over the road to work in the twins' shop while he finishes the nursery for her."

"Bet Harry loves that." She smiled, leaning back into the trunk of the apple tree and looked into his cornflower blue eyes, which danced with mirth as he looked back at her.

"Ha, yeah. Still, she says that ever since he married her he's been determined to take care of her."

Realising his mistake, he glanced almost fearfully at her eyes, which a moment before had sparkled with warm friendliness as he related this news to her.

Every now and again he'd seen her eyes light up like this as they talked, giving her face a radiant quality which Charlie couldn't look away from; it made such a change from the morose, tear-stained visage he had become accustomed to seeing on the rare occasions Hermione had left Ginny's bedroom before now.

But just as his hopes rose with every smile and chuckle she gave away, they fell to the pit of his stomach every time her face clouded over at the thought of Ron and her so-called marriage, like now.

"So.." He started uneasily, reaching up to rub his messy red hair in a way she recognised as him being uncomfortable, and immediately felt bad for being so sensitive.

"Hey, did I ever tell you of the time when Bill and I organised a midnight quidditch match in our seventh year? No?"

She shook her head, her gaze fixed on those sparkling eyes which had caught her attention once more.

"Well, we were all ready to leave the changing rooms to set up the game with a load of other 6th and 7th years, when Percy turns up…let's just say he wasn't too pleased to see us and tried to hex us into going to bed. So Bill gets really angry with his kid brother for ruining our fun, and invents a spell to stick him to the ceiling of common room. Only problem was, we sort-of 'forgot' to invent a counter hex, and dear old Perce stayed up there for the whole weekend. Serves him right though, really…"

He laughed and gazed off into the distance with those captivating azure eyes as he reminisced.

She hit him playfully on his arm before leaning in to rest her head on his shoulder.

He grinned, sensing sudden warmth in his upper body, and felt very conscious of her head lying lightly on his shoulder, chocolaty curls falling gracefully down his arm. She sighed contentedly.

He wondered briefly what would happen if he stroked her smooth cheek with the hand that had somehow made its way around her sloping shoulders, and then wondered when he had started thinking things like that about the wives of his brothers.

_But she isn't Ron's wife anymore, is she? _Muttered a small voice in his head. _Not really, anyway…_

He pushed the voice away, and laughed, though less freely than before.

"No, but hey, it got you laughing."

"True."

Her face clouded over once more, and he knew she felt guilty for feeling slightly happier than maybe she should. Charlie cursed himself for being so thoughtless, and tried to make up for his idiotic mistake by pulling Hermione into a hug, but she resisted.

"I think Mrs Weasley's calling us in for dinner." She rose stiffly, her demeanour icy and detached as she untangled herself from his strong, freckle-flecked arms and left him sitting there, underneath the tree.

He watched her go, making no attempt to call after her. She needed time to sort out her feelings right now, and anything he said would only get in the way.

Pushing himself to his feet, he dusted down his earthy jeans and saw how late it actually was. The autumn evening was balmy and still, and insects buzzed still in the half-light as he followed Hermione at a distance towards his ramshackle home, wondering as he went how it was he'd managed to stay talking with her for several hours without running out of things to talk about, even when certain subjects were off-limmits.

Shaking his head to rid himself of these musings, he continued towards The Burrow, watching her shiny dark curls reflect the sun, giving off flashes of rusty hues as she walked.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so this went in a completely different direction to how I was expecting, but I think that Hermione needs more time to get over Ron. Otherwise I'm scared it'll turn into sweet fluffiness without any real feelings or thoughts etc. And we can't have that now, can we?

**Tate Dean** Hermione is 23 years old (she's 24 in September) and Charlie is 29 years old (he's 30 in December) as he left Hogwarts in 1991- the year the Golden trio started.As you may have gathered from this chapter, Ginny and Harry got married recently, and are expecting their first child. Fred and George are still running Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Please keep the reviews and questions coming, and constructive criticism is always welcome.


	4. Fighting in the Kitchen

A/N: I'm really, really sorry! I should have written this weeks ago, I know. But what with holidays, work and of course the 24 hour Deathly Hallows marathon read which I finished at an indecent hour of the morning today...I've only just got round to this.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything...not even Draco Malfoy, which is a shame.

* * *

Over dinner, Charlie reflected on what had happened in the orchard. He knew he was being stupid to think she thought anything special of him- her feelings were purely sisterly in intention, and he knew it. 

Ginny herself had often put her head on his shoulder when she was tired or upset about something in exactly the same way. Even though she had Harry to take care of her now, she'd still visit Charlie on the rare occasions that he was at The Burrow and sit with him just like he and Hermione had done earlier.

But he still couldn't shake off the blissful feeling he'd felt every time he'd caught sight of her smiling or chuckling through her bright, tear filled eyes. It was a strange sensation- almost as if he'd known that she was only laughing because of something he'd done or said, and his stomach had flipped with pride every time he saw her face light up for a moment before darkening and turning away with guilt.

This in turn made Charlie feel guilty for making her feel shame in laughing and resting her curly head on his shoulder- an innocent action which brought with it so much attached stigma. To her, his offer of a reassuring embrace may have seemed like taking advantage of a broken woman from a broken marriage, when all he wanted to do was take the pain away.

Charlie sighed angrily, and piled his plate high with every sauce and topping within reach before returning to his musings.

Why shouldn't she be comforted by him, though? She needed to feel safe and secure where she was, and above all, Hermione needed to know that decent people who didn't lie and cheat still existed in the world.

It was such a mess, and he blamed his kid brother for the whole thing.

Ron, the idiot. Charlie wondered briefly whether he'd ever forgive the stupid git for treating Hermione that badly, but he knew that, in the end, blood was thicker than water, and would get over it eventually.

Perhaps after he gave his little brother a good beating to wipe that 'Greater-Than-Thou' smirk on his face- the one he'd worn almost permanently since being promoted to a desk job inside the magical games and sports department at the ministry, like his job made him better than everyone else in the family.

Though no-one was unkind enough to tell him, he was turning into Percy. Maybe Charlie would let it slip, next time ickle Ronnikins visited.

Charlie grinned almost evilly- not noticing the odd looks he received from the other three sitting at the table as he proceeded to smile manically into his plate of spaghetti bolognaise.

But there was more to it than that, he thought, shovelling pasta into his mouth and watching the rest of the table engage in polite conversation, glancing back at him with concern every couple sentences.

Okay, so it was wrong to treat any woman like Ron had, but of course Charlie had the twins to look at for reference. Fred and George were well known womanisers, and no relationship of either bachelor had lasted more than six months. Even then, the twins managed two and sometimes three relationships at a time, often swapping girlfriends when they got bored of a lover as easily as chocolate frog cards.

But somehow that was different, not least because Ron had actually asked Hermione to be his wife, and succeeded in walking down that aisle just three months later.

It all came down to commitment, in Charlie's mind. Every girl that goes out with Fred and George expects to be treated as one in a long line of expendables. And most of the time, the twins told the women in question that, really, they were only ever looking for a 'no strings attached' deal before they even asked them out on a date.

Ron was definitely different. Hermione had trusted his love for her every time she'd left the house to go abroad on business- she'd only had to catch him once to know how unfaithful he was to her, but it probably had shaken her to her core. How many times had he had other women in her bed over the past two years or so?

Charlie growled low in his throat, looking up from his empty plate to find his mother starting one of her famous rows with Hermione over her youngest son, and rolled his eyes with the practise of one who's been privy to such disagreements his whole life.

"Hermione, dear. The problem is that, well, I realise that it's only been a week, and-"

"Mrs Weasley, I want that divorce!"

Hermione looked at Mr Weasley for support, but faced with his formidable wife, Arthur chose to remain, for the most part, on her side.

"Just hear Molly out, Hermione," he said kindly, placing his hand over hers and smiling at her.

"Thank you, Arthur." Mrs Weasley smiled with satisfaction, and began to clear up the plates closest to her.

"Look," Hermione bristled, snatching her hand away from Mr Weasley and staring straight down at her plate before it was whisked from under her nose by Mrs Weasley on her way to the sink.

"Look," she repeated, clenching her fists tightly. Charlie willed her not to cry, nodding in what he hoped was an encouraging way at her lowering eyelids.

If she saw the nod, she ignored it, choosing instead to glare at Mrs Weasley's back in a way Charlie had never seen her before. Pure rage, hurt and defiance were etched across her reddening face, behind her deep, chocolate eyes, which bore into Molly Weasley's oblivious figure from across the snug kitchen.

"Molly, Arthur," Hermione continued, breathing in deeply with the patience akin to a saint. Arthur Weasley looked cowed- if looks could kill, Mrs Weasley was as good as dead.

"I'm going to go to the ministry tomorrow and get those stupid papers- you can't stop me!" she added, noticing Mrs Weasley's mouth open as she wheeled to face her daughter-in-law still sitting at the scrubbed kitchen table, eyebrows scowling.

Mrs Weasley opened and shut her mouth a few times. Charlie noted that, at any other time, it would have looked comical, and even now he struggled not to let out a chuckle. Catching his father's eye for a second, he saw that he too was finding it a strain not to laugh.

The two women, however, were still battling each other quite seriously.

"You need to- Hermione, I really don't think you _need_ to be quite so drastic!"

"Mrs Weasley! Wasn't it you who said when I arrived that you understood perfectly what I was going through? That a divorce was quite a reasonable response, considering what that _pig_-"

"Don't you dare talk about my son that way, young lady!"

Mrs Weasley was fuming now, hands placed firmly on her ample hips as she faced the woman who held so little respect for her family.

Arthur Weasley and Charlie tried to tiptoe away from the table without being noticed, but to no avail;

"Arthur, back me up!"

"Charlie, tell her I need to get a divorce!"

Both men shot thwarted looks at each other as they took up their respective positions once more between the raving mad women, cringing as the two ferocious females shot them looks of which a basilisk would have been proud.

"Hermione, I said those things because you were upset, dear! I could never let you get a divorce- imagine how that would make Ronald _feel_! His heart would be completely broken!"

Hermione stopped a couple of paces away from her mother-in-law, her mouth opening to reply with all the venom and outrage she could muster as she tried to ignore the pounding in her head and the roaring in her ears. She took a small but confident step forwards…

…And then her world went black- she was falling, down, down into the centre of the earth…

* * *

A/N: OOOH! Big excitement. Please write me reviews and messages, they're so amazingly appreciated over here! 


	5. Dragons and Cows

A/N: Yeah. Treats for you- two fics in one go. I spoil you guys rotten, and you know it lol.

Disclaimer: I don't own these people or anything, but they visit my house for cookies and milk every Sunday. What do _you_ think?

* * *

Charlie stepped forwards quickly, his reactions honed from years of quidditch and dragon keeping, to catch the younger of the two women before she hit the ground in a dead faint. 

"Oh, my," was all his mother could murmur as she grasped onto her husbands sleeve for support.

"Great, Mum." Charlie growled as he adjusted Hermione in his arms and headed for the stairs. "Really good going."

………………………………

Charlie reached the first floor within a matter of seconds. His strong arms felt only a little strain as he carried her nestled against his chest, her arms hanging loosely down and her legs bent up at the knee as he strode towards Bill's and his old bedroom- the closest room to the staircase.

He kicked the door open and laid her down gently on his bed, this being the nearest to the door. She barely stirred as he straightened out her legs and carefully manipulated her arms into a more usual sleeping position before pulling up his duvet quilt to her shoulders and tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

He looked briefly down at her chest, rising and falling gently with each breath before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

Downstairs, Mr and Mrs Weasley were having a heated conversation in whispers as Charlie re-entered the kitchen. His mother spotted him leaning against the doorframe and hurried over.

"How is she?" She asked anxiously, biting her lip and tugging on a stray thread of her shabby robes.

"How do you think she is, Mum?" Charlie shot back, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck in annoyance. Molly blanched, and he sighed.

"She'll live. What were you thinking, getting her all pissed off like that?"

"Language, son." Mr Weasley admonished, but was quelled under the quieting glance his wife threw in his direction before turning back to Charlie.

"She's being too hasty. Maybe she and Ron can work something out between the two of them-"

"Are you joking? After what he did to Hermione, I'll be surprised if she ever talks to him again!"

"I'm not saying what he did was _clever_," Mrs Weasley said, speaking very low and fast as though her youngest son was listening in on the debate.

"But rushing into a divorce…well, apart from anything, it's quite a shameful thing to bring on the family."

"Who gives a fuck whether it's the 'done thing', if it's the right thing- hell, the _only_ thing to do?!"

"Language!" Mr Weasley roared again, though neither his son nor Molly took any notice.

"Fine! Fine, let her get the stupid divorce. I'll floo Ron- get him to come round and apologise. He at least deserves to _know_ if his wife is filing for…if she's going to…to…oh, my."

And Mrs Weasley too fell to the ground unconscious. The only difference was that nobody was quick enough to catch her this time, and she fell hard against a side dresser before hitting the tiled kitchen floor with a dull thud.

Mr Weasley looked panic-stricken, but his son merely raised his eyebrows and levitated his mother several inches above the floor and proceeded to move her up the stairs and into her own bed.

After checking that his mum was okay (well, he checked her vital signs anyway- breathing, heartbeat, pupils and all that.) There was a sizable bruise spreading across her one visible forearm as she lay still against a bright patchwork quilt with Mr Weasley perched delicately beside her. But Charlie barely noticed - his thoughts were elsewhere.

He made his way down the two rickety flights of stairs from his parents' room and back to his own, where he found Hermione leaning heavily against his bed's headboard and rubbing her temples.

She heard the door creak open and looked up. She smiled faintly as he made his way over to sit on his brother's bed, not two paces from where she sat.

"You feeling better, then?"

She grimaced and closed her eyes against the glare of the sunlight streaming through the lopsided window for a moment, before a though occurred to her.

"Um, thanks for catching me, by the way."

"No problem. I've got to do something useful with my reflexes while I'm not on the reserve."

"Oh, that's right," Hermione said, a little surprise injected into her almost tremulous voice as she fought back a wave of aching pain in her forehead.

"Why _are_ you here?"

He smiled down at her, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards ever so slightly. He was laughing at her inside, but for some reason it didn't bother her as much as she thought it would, or should, have done.

"Sorry- you know what I mean."

"Nah, I got what you meant. I'm here on business, actually." He saw the expression on her face and grinned again.

"I know, ridiculous for a dragon keeper- business and all that." He laughed off her appalled, now delicately pink face and continued.

"We've been having problems with the muggles cutting down the forest area around one of the reserve sanctuaries in the mountains. We can't exactly tell them all that dragons live there, and we don't have a permit to create non-muggle buffer zones around the area."

"But surely the ministry will give you a permit if you ask for one! Act 657.9 of the Magical Creature Handling and Rearing Law clearly states that-"

He sighed, and rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling which carried a moving frieze of dragons flying around mountains and over the sea- a reminder of how dragon-crazy he and his brother had been as children, and, in his case, how dragon-crazy he still was.

"Can't get one off them, and believe me," he continued darkly, "It's not for lack of trying. I spoke to the head of Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures two days ago, Hannah Abbott, you know her?"

He rolled his eyes to himself and followed the path of a Welsh Green as it soared hypnotically over the ceiling in smooth arcs and loops.

"Bit thick, to tell you the truth, and everyone says she's only where she is because she's been sleeping with most of the top guys at the ministry, and with the husbands of half the witches there, too. Personally, I wouldn't put it passed her, either- she's that sort of pretty blonde that most guys look twice at…not that I…more to girls than just…most guys are idiots anyway…"

Turning to glance apprehensively at her, Charlie thought he saw a tear glistening at the corner of her eye, but didn't move until it spilled over onto her pale cheek. Her lip wobbled dangerously.

"Hey, hey! What's the matter?" Charlie launched himself off Bill's old bed and onto his own so that he sat facing Hermione on top of his quilt, his blue eyes, concerned, burning into her eyelids, which were lowered against a further onslaught of salty tears. She breathed deeply, shakily, to try and regain some shred of composure before slumping back against the headboard in defeat and let out a choking sob.

Before he had thought it through, Charlie was embracing her, rocking her gently and rubbing her back soothingly as she shook with pain and sorrow.

"What is it? You can tell me anything, I swear," he whispered into her hair. "Anything."

"She…s-she…that _cow._"

"Ah. You heard what mum said?"

"What?" Hermione hiccupped, and leant even further into Charlie's t-shirt. "N-no. Well…maybe a bit…but not…nothing like…" She took another deep, steadying breath, wriggling into a more comfortable position in his muscley arms with her forehead pressed hard into his collarbone.

"That…that _Abbot _woman! I knew it…it was h-her. L-l-last week..." And Hermione lapsed back into uncontrollable sobbing, clutching Charlie tightly to her, his hands now stilled against her back. She didn't have to continue for him to make sense of her gabbled realisations. Already images of the blonde and Ron were forming in his mind.

"I'll kill him."

* * *

A/N: Obviously I had to leave you with that…seemed like a good thing to do at the time. 

Please review with whatever you feel- criticism constructive only please. People telling me my story sucks etc. will be fed to Nigel the rabid Niffler of Nottingham.

Suggestions for the next few chapters welcome, and I'll answer any questions you might have too.


	6. The Ceiling of Dreams

A/N: This is more of a filler chapter than anything. You get to see Charlie's background, weird, mixed emotions, signals….whatever. I think you guys need to see what they're thinking before I post anything with a bit more drama. (yes, I will try to make the next chapter all about Ron and his stupidity etc.)

Please review- it's always great to know what people think about this fic, and especially if you have any ideas of your own about what should happen.

* * *

"I'll kill him."

Hermione stopped crying as soon as the words left Charlie's lips, and began shaking her head violently into his athletic torso.

Mumbling frantically at him to not even _think_ of doing something so drastic…she could handle it, it was fine…she'd sort it out…, she made to remove herself from his comforting embrace.

Charlie turned away, not wanting her to see his face as she pulled away. He knew he'd scared her, but she had to know how much he wanted to help her, to protect her, to take care of her.

It was obvious to him now the extent to which she needed caring for. Most people, Ron apparently included, saw Hermione as a strong, independent and highly intelligent woman, who looked to no-one but herself and books for help and guidance.

But there was another side to her, Charlie thought, turning back to look at her face, half turned away towards the window between his and Bill's beds. She was small, delicate and vulnerable, too. When he had held her, mere moments ago, she had seemed so fragile, as though if he squeezed her tight enough, she would snap under the pressure.

Audibly sighing, Hermione turned her back to the window, and seemed to Charlie to visibly pull herself together, scrubbing her cheeks with the cuffs of her woolly jumper, a gift courtesy of Mrs Weasley the previous Christmas.

Steeling herself, she took a step back across the room towards Charlie, still sitting on his bed in the position she'd left him in. She noticed that his eyes were oddly clouded, a mixture of several emotions that even she couldn't fathom too deeply.

Topmost, however, in the layers of emotional apparel gracing his handsome, freckled features was clearly visible to her, and the anger he felt flashed briefly before he, too, masked all emotions behind a carefully blank expression.

"Charlie."

"Hermione?"

"Look, I…I know what your mum was talking about…downstairs, earlier. And…maybe I was being a bit hasty, you know?"

Hermione held up a prefect-like hand as a barrier to ward off his outrage at his mother's ability to brainwash, outmanoeuvre and generally get her own way in everything she did.

"I love your mum, Charlie. She even feels like my own mum since…since the accident," she carried on bravely, referring to the event three months previously in which her mother had died, her father following soon afterwards.

Nobody, not even Ron or Ginny, knew exactly what had happened, except that her parents had died within hours of each other. Hermione was always one for bottling up her emotions, and this was no exception.

"I know," moaned Charlie, head in hands. "I know what this family means to you, believe me. It's just that most people end up giving into her- I think I'm the only exception to the rule."

Hermione looked quizzically at the man sitting in front of her, before slowly bending her knees to sit once again on his bed. He kept talking, apparently too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice her for once.

"When I was nine, I told mum that when I grew up, I wanted to be a dragon tamer. She laughed at me, told me that when I was older I'd end up wanting a nice, quiet position at the Ministry, like dad."

Hermione winced slightly on his behalf, and edged her hand closer to him across the quilt to show she was listening. Charlie glanced at the hand, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"When I was thirteen," he continued, returning to glare at his feet, "I told my mum why I was picking the OWLs I was. She said that Care of Magical Creatures was for people who couldn't think, that I was too clever for it."

Hermione smiled and shuffled closer to him, placing her own thoughtful head into her hands.

"Bet that only made you want it more, I suppose?"

"'Course it did." Charlie let out a small chuckle, deep in his throat.

She couldn't explain how, or why, but that chuckle made her feel…strange. Like she could more easily forget everything else in the world, just hearing his voice…

"I picked my NEWTs with the same reasoning," Charlie was saying, and Hermione mentally shook her head again as he drew her back to the present. He saw this abrupt change in her features, though it was subtle, and grinned to himself.

"And, uh, I take it Molly wasn't best pleased?"

"Merlin, that's an understatement. She was _livid_," Charlie answered happily, a distinct note of pride registering in his voice, and he turned to look at her.

"You know, I think that was the year she threw a kettle at my head- or maybe it was the kettle a couple of years later? Yeah, I think she did that when I said I was off to Romania. When I told her about the exams I was taking, it was the turn of the iron."

He laughed at her appalled 'O' of a mouth, and leant forwards to grasp her chin in his calloused palm to shut it gently. Unfortunately for the both of them, this brought their faces very close together indeed, and Hermione flushed a deep crimson which caused Charlie to release her chin at once.

"Sorry," they mumbled in unison, before Hermione surprised Charlie by letting a giggle escape her lips- something, he noticed, which did nothing to suppress the feelings of happiness warming his body like dragon fire from a furnace inside his heart.

"Sorry, I just…she threw an _iron _at you?"

He grinned at her, nodding, and flopped backwards until her was once again gazing at the sky filled with swooping depictions of dragons, lying widthways so his legs dangled off the edge.

Hermione laughed, and joined him in his dragon-gazing as she too flopped backwards on the bed, her arms dangling into space above her head, and her legs doing the same off the other end of the bed.

"You must really love your job," she wondered allowed, more to herself than to him. "I mean, I guess what you're saying is that," she picked her words carefully here, "it didn't matter what everybody- your mum included- thought, because it's what you always wanted? And you still love it, even now?"

"Yeah, it's nice. No stuffy office, loads of fresh air, new challenges all the time…" he gave her a sidelong glance. "You know, I think you'd like it, too."

"Me?" Hermione snorted and rolled onto her side, the better to talk to him. "Nah, I'm going to be stuck in that office all my working life."

"You enjoy it?"

"Of course not, Charlie," She smiled, pushing strands of hair behind her ear. "We can't all have exciting, fulfilling jobs like you do, you know."

"You should do- you of all people deserve something good. I mean….sorry."

Yet again, Charlie realised he'd said too much, and opened his mouth to rectify his mistake. Hermione just waved off his apologies with a wan smile, and added,

"I get it. You didn't want to remind me that my marriage with your brother is more than just a little warped in the romantic, happily-ever-after department. But it's ok," she collapsed onto her back once more to stare off into space, and a single tear fell, tracking down her cheek and onto her ear, which she scrubbed away, a fierce look in her eye.

"I want the divorce- you're right. I always wanted it after... Well, it's the best thing to do, and I need to get my…my life back on track. I mean, if it's what I want, no-one should be able to tell me it's not ok."

If Charlie was shocked by her quick about-face, he didn't show it, but smiled knowingly up at his dragons, thanking them silently for being able to make Hermione see sense.

* * *

A/N: Ok, I hope that didn't bore you to death, and I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I write it, which hopefully won't be more than a couple of days.

Sorry it was such a non-eventful chapter, but I think it will be a bit more important that anybody realises in all those lovely chapters to come!

The blue button is there for clicking.


	7. Fighting at the Ministry

A/N: Sorry this is so late!!! I went on holiday, and then on the last night, my big brother got appendicitis and so I've only just been able to get back home, and even now I'm going from and to a hospital nearly 2 hours away from my house…yup, bit of a nightmare…

Please review this one! It's loads longer, and so much happens!

* * *

Hermione made her way downstairs the next morning with not a little trepidation as to the state of Mrs Weasley's temper. The kitchen, however, was at a first glance, empty.

She cast a fleeting look over at the odd wall clock, whose face was now a jumble of locations and possible situations pertaining to the lives of the Weasley family.

Harry's and Ginny's arrows pointed, predictably, to The Cottage, their new home in Godric's Hollow. The twins were in Diagon alley with Mrs Weasley, Bill and Fleur were with them, too, along with two year old Victoire.

Every other arrow pointed to the Ministry, save her own, and…she spun round at the sound of the kettle whistling shrilly from the old fashioned range. Charlie.

He was shirtless, and Hermione blushed delicately as her eyes roved curiously over his broad, muscular torso, along his freckled arms with the shiny pink burns and half-healed cuts. He watched her with an odd expression- his eyes were laughing, yet oddly serious at the same time.

"Uh…Hermione?"

She jumped, her hands twitching slightly as her face drew colour to it. She closed her eyes for a moment, looking flustered.

"I- what did you just say?"

Charlie grinned at her, looking her straight in the eye as he stretched his arms above his head before bending them to allow his hands to mess up his hair from the back.

For some reason, and Charlie though he had a good idea as to why, Hermione half-smiled, her eyes still fixed on his. He relaxed again, and sat down at the wooden kitchen table with his breakfast, proffering the toast rack in her direction as he spread jam generously all over his own stack.

She waved it away, half-falling onto the bench opposite him and knocking over his morning class of orange juice with pale, shaky hands.

Charlie looked at her with concern. She looked so small, lost and undeniably beautiful, biting her bottom lip and twirling a stray lock of curly dark hair around her agitated left hand.

It was if she was the teenage Hermione once more, all her insecurities flooding back, to replace all the self-confidence she had acquired as a young woman.

He watched her for an instant out of his gentle blue eyes, brimming with compassion, and she whispered,

"Your mum said she was going to tell Ron…he'll turn up, won't he?"

"I hate to say it, 'Mione," Charlie said, heaving a sigh and leaning forwards slightly, his eyes tired and red. "But, yeah. Mum has probably told ickle Ronnikins by now. And yeah, he'll probably turn up sooner or later. Grovelling, most likely."

"Well, he had to find out sooner or later- I just hoped it could have been later. Now there's a chance he'll turn up and try and reason with me. Not that it will get him anywhere. I'll go to the Ministry to-today." She faltered.

Charlie scooted his bench closer to the table reaching a tanned hand out to rest for a moment on her shoulder. She looked up, confused.

"See? That's the attitude you need. Eat some toast, or something, and then we can go to the ministry. You can get those papers, and I can go and sort out that Abbot girl…" He trailed off, noticing Hermione's expression.

"What?"

"I…well, I've been thinking…remembering, really," she began, tripping over her words as they poured out, unstoppable, from her mouth.

"Back to, um, that night. Ron said the girl he was sleep…having…nope. Can't say it. He said her name was Amanda…not Hannah…so maybe it wasn't her, anyway."

"You do know that her middle name is Amanda, right?" Hermione looked up, more confused than ever. Charlie couldn't resist a small quirk of his lips- the sight of Hermione looking so befuddled was rare.

"But…I was at school with her…everyone calls her Hannah, don't they?"

"Not after the battle," Charlie sighed, leaning back on the bed. "She tells people to call her 'Mandy' now, because her mother was called Hannah too, and if you can remember her mum…well, I wouldn't want to be mistaken for her either."

Hermione looked up, puzzled.

"Her mother? Oh…of course, she was a death eater, wasn't she?"

"Yeah…"

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of each other's breathing, before Charlie pushed himself off the bench. He held out a hand to pull Hermione up.

His hand felt rough and gentle at the same time, and Hermione could feel smooth burns underneath her palm as he helped her up. The hand dwarfed her own, and showed her skin pale against the golden hue of Charlie's skin.

"Eh, Hermione? You can let go now…" Charlie's voice brought her back to earth, and she blushed, trying to extract her hand from his. But Charlie was smiling again, that strange, quietly laughing smile that did something weird to her stomach, and his hand stayed firmly wrapped around her own.

"C'mon. Ministry." He grimaced, tugging her over to the front door, and snagged a t-shirt from a coat peg on the way out, pausing only to shove it over his head before leaving the kitchen with Hermione in tow.

…………………………………………

"Mrs Hermione Jean Weasley?"

"Yes, sir."

It was much later in the day, and both Charlie and Hermione had gone to the Ministry to plead their separate cases.

Now Hermione sat, agitatedly twisting her fingers together in her lap in front of an old warlock, who sat at a desk piled high with forms, letters and official memos.

"Current age?"

"Twenty-three, sir. I've been married for three years."

"I see," the wizard looked over his glasses at her, his wizened, papery face twisting into a kindly smile that Hermione didn't, couldn't, return.

"And what are your grounds for divorcing," he checked the topmost form of a pile directly in front of him. "Mr Ronald Bilius Weasley, your husband of three years, hmm?"

Hermione couldn't stop herself from blurting out the whole sordid tale; her coming home to find him in bed with another woman, the row afterwards, and her current situation with his mother at the Burrow, not to mention the death of her own parents, though never revealing the cause.

The old wizard's tufty white eyebrows got higher with every passing minute, until they seemed to disappear underneath his hat altogether.

"Dear, dear," he muttered, reaching out to pat her hesitantly on the arm. "That's very upsetting to hear, and I'm sure there's more than enough there to get the divorce- if that's what you both want, of course…"

"Oh, I think we do," she muttered grimly, her teeth clenched as she stood up to formerly shake the warlock's hand. "Do I, I don't know, have to sign anything? Reverse any enchantments? Act 739 of magical wizarding law, after all, states that if the husband is unfaithful, then the bastard…oh, goodness-"

"Mrs Weasley!" The old warlock squeaked, pulling off his hat and patting it hastily over a pile of papers which Hermione's wand had just ignited.

"I'll, just um…just go." She managed as she beat a hasty retreat out of the office and into the corridor, turning for a second to call back, asking to have the papers owled to her immediately- as soon as convenient to them, of course…and walking straight into someone going the other way.

"Hermione?"

"_Ron_?"

They stared at each other, looks of loathing etched over their faces, though Ron's also held a well-deserved hint of fear.

"I have nothing to say to you anymore, Ronald," Hermione said icily. "I've just filed for divorce- soon you can legally do what you've been doing with Mandy, or Hannah, whoever the _bitch_ is, all year."

"All…all year? How the hell did you work that one out, you mad witch?" he gasped, taking a step forwards in his outrage, his ears glowing scarlet.

"Let me past, Weasley, or I swear to Merlin, I'll…"

"You'll what? Kill me?" Ron laughed derisively, looking around at the numerous faces appearing around doors all down the corridor. "With witnesses? I know you too well, 'Mione, and you wouldn't dare."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Hermione snorted, her wand out, clenched in a tight fist by her side. Before anyone could react, the wand was jabbed in Ron's direction, and several small birds shot out of the end, making a beeline for the unfortunate redhead.

He tried unsuccessfully to rid himself of the canary-like birds of which he had become a victim of only once before, in sixth year when he had been, as he recalled, going out with Lavender Brown at the time.

"Bugger you, Hermione!" he yelled, grabbing and batting the birds away with both hands, his wand discarded on the floor at his feet, as Charlie Weasley rounded the corner, arguing fiercely with a blonde woman dressed, like Ron, in ministry robes.

"Look, all I want is a permit to stop the muggles from- what in Merlin's name is going on here?" Charlie asked, taking in the situation at once. The blonde witch gasped, and she ran over to help Ron with the man-eating budgies.

"You bitch!" she screeched at Hermione, her long manicured fingernails slicing through the air with audible whistles as she deftly beat off the bedraggled birds.

Hermione laughed, walking around the pair until she was nose to nose with the blonde.

"You're quite right, Hannah," she chuckled, stowing her wand into the back pocket of her jeans before carrying on conversationally,

"I should be thanking you- it was _you_, after all, who got me wanting the divorce in the first place! Without you, I never would have believed that my husband, and I use the term loosely, you understand…that my husband would be capable of cheating on me with some blonde _tart_- it seems I was wrong. So thanks, Manny…Randy…or whatever your name is."

To the astonishment of the onlookers, not to mention Ron, Charlie and especially Mandy Abbot, Hermione air-kissed both her cheeks in a piss-take of the blonde's own bimbo attitude, before straightening up and striding towards the lift doors.

The moments of sudden clarity that her anger at seeing Ron so unexpectedly had brought were fast receding, leaving her mind in a blur of colours and sounds as she called the lift.

Another person had entered the lift behind her, but she didn't care. How could she have been so _stupid_? To get so angry, and in front of so many people? At least she'd get the divorce for definite, she thought, chuckling despite the angry, hot tear tracking down her cheek.

And then strong, warm arms were around her, the person behind her reaching around her shoulders with a comforting embrace.

She turned around, though the person didn't let go. She looked up, and blue eyes met brown.

"Charlie-I…I'm sorry…I just-"

"Shh. It's ok," he murmured, putting a finger to her lips. The cool female voice in the lift was getting impatient. The doors were shut, but nobody had told the lift where to go.

"Which floor do you require?...You are currently at level 2; Wizarding law enforcement Agency, Wizengamot Offices and Magical Persons Liaison office…Which floor do you require?... Which floor?...Which floor?..."

Nobody heard her though. Charlie's arm was still wrapped tightly around Hermione's shoulders, and he could feel her chest rise and fall on his own as she drew in deep, calming breaths. He removed his finger to brush the tear from her cheek with a tanned thumb until his hand was cupping her face. Her eyes never left his.

"Better?" he inquired, his voice deep and hushed in the silence of the lift.

Hermione shook her head, and shifted in his grasp slightly so that her arms were no longer pinned to her sides, but rested comfortably either side of his waist. He watched her as her eyelids flickered for an instant, her eyes darting to his lips and back up to his own, mesmerising blue, eyes.

She smiled, and he returned the gesture, trying to convey the mixed-up emotions he was feeling with his eyes and mouth until he could stand it no longer, and he just prayed that she could forgive him for what he did next although something told him it was a bit late for that.

He bent his head down just as she closed her eyes, and captured her soft mouth in a chaste kiss. Or at least, that had been the original plan- the plan that relied on Hermione not reciprocating.

But Hermione was definitely kissing him back, her arms encircling his waist, reaching up his back, and her head tilted upwards to provide them with a better angle.

Charlie's own arm was moving lower until his hand felt the small of her back, and his fingers brushed skin where her t-shirt had pulled up slightly. His other hand was entangled in her long, thick, dark hair, supporting her head gently.

He backed up against the wall of the lift and she removed her arms from around his waist to prevent him from trapping her hands, only to place them around his neck moments later. He moaned and opened his mouth slightly, which Hermione mimicked, slipping her tongue into his mouth where it found his own and began to caress it gently.

There was something about kissing Charlie that was new, exciting and impulsive- yet she felt like she'd been kissing him all her life- nothing else felt so real right now. He tasted of Charlie; indefinable yet somehow familiar to her as she pressed closer to him, her legs between his own, her feet on tip-toe- he was almost a foot taller than her, although one of the shorter of the Weasley boys when compared to the likes of Bill and Ron.

Charlie pulled back first, his need for air halting his assault on her mouth. Breaking the kiss, their surroundings came flooding back into their vision, and the cool female voice was still there in the background, still intoning,

"Which floor do you require?...You are currently at level 2; Wizarding Law Enforcement Agency, Wizengamot Offices and Magical Persons Liaison office…"

Charlie half smiled, wrapping both arms tightly around Hermione's waist and looking straight down into her dark, fathomless eyes which held his gaze despite the blush creeping across her cheeks.

"So…which floor d'you want?" he asked playfully, expecting her to reject him at any moment, to turn and walk away from him, to tell him it was all a big mistake…but she was smiling up at him, the smile making her look so beautiful and young that Charlie was surprised his chest didn't burst, his heart was pounding so hard.

"Just…take me home, Charlie."

* * *

A/N: Woo! They finally kissed, aren't you happy? How about you let me know by clicking the little blue button? (Not that I'm being revoltingly pushy, or anything like that, of course...)


	8. A Narrow Escape

**Warnings: **Bad language, some more kissing, maybe, I haven't decided yet…

**A/N: **Sorry this has been such a long time coming- I hope you guys haven't deserted this just yet! I'm back at school, so writing will definitely be a rare pleasure for me from now on…like, once every 2 months, which is traumatic to say the least.

My teachers apparently feel that 'free time' is a euphemism for 'homework'. But enough of my life- on with the story!

* * *

They stepped out of the lift at the atrium, making to pass the fountain on their way to the designated apparition zone at the end of the cavernous hall. Hermione smiled as her fingers 'accidentally' brushed Charlie's, and stood still for a moment to admire the fountain of magical brethren.

The fountain no longer portrayed a scene in which a Witch and Wizard stood regally with assorted magical beings looking up at them in clueless adoration.

Instead, the witch and wizard stood on a raised platform in the centre of a pool, the witch holding a small child close to her as water cascaded down behind them from a waterfall suspended from floor to ceiling- some 20 meters above.

On the edge of the fountain pool, a centaur stood, his head held high on level with that of the wizard's own, his face staring majestically down at the crowds of Ministry employees milling around.

On rocks either side of the wizarding family in the pool, a House Elf and a Goblin sat, their feet dangling into the water as they also stared outwards, their faces passive but lacking the worshipful gaze of their predecessors.

Hermione's gaze swept the bowl of the pool, noticing the elaborate stonemasonry of Merpeople, Grindylows, Kappas, Kelpies, Selkies and dozens of other water-dwelling creatures frozen mid-swim around the edge.

"C'mon, Hermione," Charlie whispered in her ear. "We all know it was you who got this fountain designed two years ago- no need to pretend like it's the first time you've seen it."

Hermione turned; she was smiling but her eyes were swimming again. She grasped Charlie's hand tightly and pulled him away, only glancing back one more time to take in her handy-work before she felt herself being squeezed tighter and tighter into a narrow tube of time and space, her breath forced out of her lungs, the feel of her hand in Charlie's…

And then air was rushing back into her lungs in deep, life-giving breaths, and she felt her hand slip away from Charlie's, subsequently losing her balance tripping over a chicken in The Burrow's front yard and landing in a clump of rhododendrons growing through a gap in the fence.

Lights flashed in her eyes as she struggled to sit up, her ears suddenly full of voices, clamouring to be heard over the next as she looked around, bewildered, as several people emerged from behind hedges and trees, the side of the house and from between the bins outside the door leading to the Weasley's kitchen.

Everyone carried old-fashioned photography equipment, and she could see out of the corner of her eye a long roll of parchment floating in mid-air, an acid-green quill scribbling away.

"How d'you feel about the break-up, luv?" one lecherous man in a tweed suit shouted out, peering into her face and giving her a blast of his odorous breath- cigar smoke and garlic…lovely. Hermione shrank back into the flowers, repulsed by the people standing around her, paralysed, unable to get away.

Another man, this one in green robes, pushed his way in front of the rest to snap a quick photograph of her in the hedge before being shoved to one side by several more members of the inquisition, all roaring questions at Hermione.

"Was 'e playin' away?"

"Is it true you sent bulbadox powder by owl to the home address of Amanda Abbot, his mistress?"

"D'you prefer Harry Potter? The Weasley guy not good enough for you?"

"Fame go to his head, luv?"

"Was your marriage a publicity stunt?"

Hermione screamed, covering her face with her hands, trying to force a way through the mass of reporters who had created a seemingly impenetrable barrier around her- trapping her. Her heart beat faster and faster inside her chest, and her breaths became shallower, her attempts to break free weaker…

She heard a voice. Faint amongst the clamouring shouts of the paparazzi, but it was there nonetheless. She reached out to it, opening her eyes to the flashing bulbs, the commotion around her, searching.

"CHARLIE!" she cried, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her as she saw, between the heads of two young women carrying parchment and quills, a red-headed, solid figure shove his way forwards, battering people out of his way with a face so angry even Hermione was quelled for an instant.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Way!" He roared, enunciating every syllable clearly, the threat of what might happen if they didn't bother to move hung almost visibly in the air as the red-head pushed through the throng, his strong hands searching for Hermione's as a path cleared.

He felt her fingers, cold and trembling, brush his for an instant before he clasped them more tightly in his hand, yanking her to his body- the only thing he could do to protect her short of using magic, something he'd forgotten in his haste, rage and fear for Hermione's safety.

Her heart was pumping audibly against his chest, her hands balling the front of his T-Shirt tightly, dark curls pressed against the underside of his jaw in fright, her face turned inwards, away from the light and noise.

Acting quickly, without thought, Charlie turned on the spot, holding Hermione as tight to his chest as possible as he felt himself being forced, once again, through the narrow tube of time and space.

…

"What…what happened?" Hermione gasped first as Charlie caught her, preventing another embarrassing fall.

"Fuckin' _reporters_." Charlie snarled, his teeth clenched. He was so angry, so incensed at the behaviour of those people he barely knew how to form a coherent sentence.

He held Hermione close still, despite the apparition to somewhere else- and while they were on the subject…

"Um…Charlie?"

"Ungh?"

"Where_ are_ we?"

"Well…" He mumbled into her hair. "I didn't really think…I was just so worried…I just grabbed you and-"

"This was the first place you thought of?" Hermione finished, smiling wryly up at the second eldest Weasley boy. "I've heard that said before. But…where _is_ here, exactly?"

They both looked around at their surroundings, taking in the cluster of large, brightly coloured tents with billowing patterned silk hangings in the entrances, the mountain scenery and the clear blue sky which seemed to envelope them, surround them with a calming presence. Their heart-beats slowly returned to normal as they gazed, their muscles relaxing. They were standing on a luscious green river bank, the grass still wet with morning dew, the soft gurgle of water bubbling up from the stream.

"Yeah…" Charlie recovered first, allowing Hermione to move away from his embrace the better to see everything around her, but kept a tight, protective grip on one hand just in case.

"Charlie, please tell me we're not-"

He cut her off, a grin spreading across his freckled features and he twirled her around by her hand, making her giggle.

"Yep, we are. Hermione, it is my humble pleasure to welcome you to the Romanian dragon reserve!"

She twirled around and around in his arms, her feet barely skimming the ground as he danced around with her, getting dizzier and dizzier without a care in the world, caught up in the moment.

They began to slow down, but Charlie kept them spinning around and around on the grassy bank.

He looked into her eyes. She gazed back, biting her lip with white teeth.

The gap between them closed, and their lips met, their eyes closing in the same instant as they spun, deepening the kiss as they went.

"NO WAAAAY!"

"It's not…It can't be…Charlie, can it? It IS! Charlie! Over here, mate!"

* * *

**AN: **And I think I'll leave it there…seriously, I'm sorry it couldn't be longer, it just seemed like a good place to stop. Please, please, please send a review (again, pushiness can't be helped much here) with your comments and questions!


	9. Reserving Opinions

**AN: **I am so relieved to finally have this done! I was worried about the possibility of a mass protest or something, I've left it so long. If it means you have to read the whole thing over, I am so, so sorry!

Now, this chapter is yet more introductions, and I hope it doesn't bore you to death. It's long to make up for all the time I've lost on it. The description is scanty- I want you to have your own images and ideas so that you can review me with them and give me your thoughts.

Gosh, this is a long intro- again, I'm sorry. One last thing. There are now over 120 people on this story alert, and nothing could be more flattering! So thank you very, very much!!!

* * *

Hermione felt herself deposited gently on the ground as Charlie released her and began striding towards a group of three wizards, who wore robes of identical green and red.

"Charlie! Hey, mate, why d'you come home so soon?" The tallest of the three and the only male of the group yelled with an unmistakable American accent, launching himself a second later at the redhead and enveloping him in a rib-cracking hug that made Charlie stagger back slightly. They were both laughing as Charlie pushed him away.

"Hey, Rico, take it easy! How's it been?"

'Rico' stood back slightly, allowing Hermione to take in his appearance as the two women of the group approached. He was tall, with messy dark hair and two days' stubble gracing caramel skin. Underneath his robes his well-built, muscled torso was clearly discernable, and his exposed forearms, like Charlie's, were covered with multiple scars, burns and welts. He grinned, showing off a set of even white teeth which shone out from his rather weather beaten face. He appeared to be in his early thirties, maybe only three or four years older than Charlie- and therefore about ten years older than herself. He glanced down at her, but was unable to say anything as the two female members of the trio reached them.

"Charlie, _mon dieu_! You're back!" one cried, flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him close into a hug. The other woman just smiled and rolled her eyes, waving first at Charlie and then at Hermione, who smiled weakly in return, her attention focussed on the blonde in Charlie's arms, whom he released immediately upon seeing her expression, grinning sheepishly.

The woman who had waved now stepped forwards, offering her hand to Hermione and smiling warmly.

"Hi, I'm Olga." The woman was of average height and built like an athlete. Her curly white blonde hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, with strands falling around her face at every turn of her head. Her skin was remarkably pale and blemish free, although her fingernails were dirty and her hands rough, reminding Hermione of a muggle gardener.

"Hermione." She took the proffered hand gratefully, smiling back at them all. Charlie walked to her and stood close, one hand hugging her waist protectively.

"Guys, this is Hermione. She's, uh, staying here for a bit. Hermione, this is Rico Hunter," the tall man grinned again, "Olga Pierson," the woman gave another gracious smile, "and Isabelle Toulouse." The blonde who had hugged Charlie with so much enthusiasm gave Hermione a warm smile and kissed her on both cheeks.

"Bonjour, 'ermione! It is a great pleasure to meet any friend of Charlie's." Hermione looked slightly annoyed about something, and Charlie had a good idea about what was bothering her. Isabelle was simply the most stunning woman either of them had ever met before, and that included Fleur. Her hair was thick and corn gold, and fell gracefully down her back in gentle waves. She was pale, but her face looked healthy and radiant, and too downright pretty for Hermione's liking. At around 5 foot seven, Isabelle was only a little taller than Hermione, but honestly looked like a model; thin and well-built, with rangy legs easily visible beneath the khaki shorts she wore under her robes.

"Hello," Hermione managed, her eyes boring into the beautiful young woman's with a menace Charlie hoped would never be directed at him. Isabelle merely smiled down at Hermione with her sculpted eyebrows slightly raised as she turned away, and laced her fingers with Rico's, who looked slightly bemused but happy enough. Olga, Hermione noticed with interest, glanced in annoyance over at the French woman before shaking back some unruly curls from her eyes and smiled at Hermione again.

"C'mon, Hermione. Let's show you the camp."

………………

Hermione gazed in awe as she stared around at the myriad of brightly-coloured tents, the richly-patterned curtains fluttering in the warm breeze. It reminded her strongly of the Quidditch World Cup, with the smell of camp fires every few feet mingled with the shouts of countless individuals as they bustled around. At one end of the camp she could just glimpse a small village some way off in the distance, and at the other, the breathtaking scenery of the Romanian countryside was dotted with small winged creatures- the dragons- which flew from cave mouths spaced along a rocky crag, or else stood penned separately in huge enclosures some distance from the camp.

"Wow," Hermione breathed, hardly able to tear her eyes away from the foreign sights. She felt Charlie chuckle behind her, her back pressed into his chest as she stood, rapt with awe.

"That's what I said when I first came to visit. Funnily enough, I never left."

She tipped her head back- he was looking at her with a peculiar, unreadable expression on his face, his blue eyes boring into hers with some inner fire that was bubbling only just beneath the surface. Not sure how to respond to this, Hermione began asking him about anything and everything to do with life on the reserve. Where did he live? What about the village, is it magical or muggle? What do you do with the dragons on a day to day basis?

He answered the questions animatedly; with wild hand gestures and gleaming eyes that cemented the impression Hermione had that here was a man who truly loved his work- his life. For the first time, she realised what she had been missing. Whenever she told anyone about her job, it was merely a statement of fact, with little emotion ever creeping in to her voice as she spoke. Briefly, she wondered if this would change if she worked at the reserve, before pushing it to the back of her mind. She loved her job. Of course she did. She worked hard and the job demanded that of her. So what if she didn't have the time for a social life…any life, outside her job? That's why it's called 'a job'. And yet…already she was doubtful of such assumptions as she gazed, transfixed, at Charlie as he spoke in that deep voice she had begun to know so well.

…………..

Charlie could see her mind digesting the information as fast as he threw it at her, and for some reason this made him smile. Her thirst for knowledge surpassed that of any other woman on the reserve. Sure, Olga was intelligent enough- so were Isabelle and the few other female keepers; but Hermione was something else entirely.

It dawned on him as he began steering her towards the nearest Dragon enclosure to visit a gentle native Moldovan Red called Renfield: Hermione's thirst for knowledge went beyond the bounds of her own fields of expertise, unlike the reserve staff whose lives revolved around dragons. She was interested in anything and everything like an excitable puppy, a quality Charlie found incredibly endearing, despite the connotations of the simile as being nosey. Hermione didn't seem to be purposefully intrusive, just eager for the facts.

So Charlie talked, and she listened, only punctuating his speech occasionally with questions of clarification, throwing up new and interesting perspectives on the reserve as she saw it. Upon reaching the enclosure boundary, an almost invisible shimmering mist of powerful spellwork that Charlie told Hermione took seventeen wizards and witches to set up over a span of several acres of rolling hillside in a lowland area of the reserve, Charlie reached down and clasped her fingers gently, lacing them through, stroking her palm gently with his thumb, rough skin meeting smooth. He smiled, and she closed her eyes as he bent down…

"Hey, Charlie-boy!" came a yell some way to their left, and they moved apart reflexively, turning towards a young man of perhaps 25 or so, with a mass of brown floppy hair and a lopsided grin. He waved, dropping several jars of brightly-coloured liquids and creams as he did so. Keepers within shouting distance yelled obscenities, but couldn't act fast enough to save the jars knocked every which way by his flailing arms.

"Ed, watch it!" Charlie yelled, but too late to act.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" Hermione bellowed, stepping forward and swishing and flicking her wand before anyone had drawn their own. The jars hovered in mid-air level with the clumsy man's chest, all except one which had fallen too far away for the spell to take effect, and which had smashed on the ground, purple goo seeping into the soft earth. Hurriedly, Ed scooped the rest back into his arms and gave Hermione a grateful smile.

"What in Merlin's name was that about, you clumsy oaf?" came an authoritative voice from behind Hermione and Charlie. A quick look around showed Hermione that most of the keepers had vanished mysteriously, or else had busied themselves with jobs as far away from the scene as possible. Turning on the spot, she found herself eye-to-eye with a white-haired old woman, who stood far too close for her liking, and whose grey eyes flashed dangerously as she looked first over Hermione's shoulder at 'Ed' and then back to her own face.

"Who are you?" The woman asked imperiously. Hermione got the impression that this woman obviously ran the place, and it was in her best interests to make a good impression. Before she could open her mouth, however, Charlie had stepped forwards.

"Madame Toulouse, may I present you to Miss Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Madame Toulouse, the owner of this reserve."

The old woman barely glanced at Charlie, and looked Hermione up and down and then back at the smashed jar on the ground.

"Can you replace the contents of this jar?"

Hermione glanced anxiously at Charlie, not sure why the old woman would expect her to replace a jar of which she had no idea of its name or use, much less the ingredients.

"Um…what was it, please?"

"Ignorant girl, it was a jar of Oral Coolant, used to prevent excessive fire-breathing in our more dangerous species- the best we have, or should I say had?" Madame Toulouse raised a shapely eyebrow at Ed, who shivered involuntarily at the action and tried to look as remorseful as possible. "If you have no idea of the jar's contents, there is clearly no need for you here. A potioneer is the only available position on this reserve. Good day." She turned with a swirl of her cloak and made to move away back towards the camp.

"Wait!" Hermione's eyes, Charlie could see clearly, had lit up suddenly. The woman turned, affronted at being yelled at so rudely, Hermione could only guess. "Please, ma'am? If you could just let me see a set of instructions, or even a list of ingredients, I'm sure I could make you more."

Charlie nearly laughed out loud at the expression on the old bat's face, and let out a slow, calming breath. Hermione felt a hand touching the tips of her fingers, and relaxed a little as she felt the comforting warmth of Charlie standing beside her, their hands out of sight of the old woman's keen eyesight.

"Yes…well. Weasley can show you the medi-tent, but I doubt you could do it- no one without an Outstanding NEWT could hope to achieve such a complex potion."

A slow smile, to Madame Toulouse's dislike, graced Hermione's lips as she felt herself being pulled away from her new boss by Charlie's strong hands. Calling over her shoulder, she said,

"An Outstanding NEWT which I have. I'm sure you will have the potion as soon as enough can be made."

…………..

Four hours later, Charlie was leaning against the rough stone wall of the medi-tent's adjoining potion room, marvelling at the skill with which Hermione prepared ingredients and tossed them calmly, one by one into two large cauldrons standing on the flagstones of what had once been the floor of an abandoned cottage before the reserve took over the area.

As she chopped up a handful of poisonous orange leaves, Hermione found herself watching the redhead out of the corner of her eye. He leant casually against the wall, lazily watching her frantically assembling ingredients, and hoping that he couldn't see her hands shaking slightly as she chopped the leaves with a small silver knife. Madame Toulouse was right, the potion was incredibly complicated to brew, and it required all her energy and concentration to make it work.

She tipped the leaves onto a set of brass scales and added three leaves to each cauldron before magically stirring the mixtures with her wand.

"Remind me again why you're making 2 cauldrons worth of the stuff? I'm sure one would supply us with enough Coolant to last six months."

Hermione took a break and sat on a wooden stool behind her work bench. She propped her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands as she looked over at Charlie.

"Because I looked at the ingredients list and thought of extra ingredients to make it work better."

"How d'you mean?"

"Well, take this, here," Hermione leant over the bench to show Charlie the page from the leather-bound book titled 'Cooling Salve' upon which the extensive list of ingredients were written. She pointed at an entry halfway down.

"What about it? I've used Feverfew a couple times in potions to cool down a baby dragon's forehead when it's caught a fever." Charlie looked confused, and Hermione duly explained.

"Feverfew works on headaches, sure. But it won't do anything to cool down dragon flame at all. At best, it'll make the flame-ducts feel calm and stress-free." Charlie raised an eyebrow at the sarcasm, but his eyes told Hermione that he was being his usual playful self, so she went on.

"I added lemon balm to one cauldron instead, because it's a mild sedative and reduces stress- hopefully deterring excessive fire-breathing. As a bonus, it's an anti-bacterial, so it'll clean the dragon's teeth and make its breath smell sweeter. I added a little mint for the same reason." Charlie's mouth closed with a snap, having just remembered to pick it up off the floor. She sure knew her stuff. No dragon keeper relished being fire-breathed, but bad breath made it ten times worse.

"So, in this cauldron is the original recipe." Here she pointed at the left pot, which held an orangey-brown bubbling gunk that didn't smell too great up close. Charlie wrinkled his nose in mock disgust, causing Hermione to stifle a giggle. "In the other, my modified potion."

This was a grass-green liquid, which gave off a faint minty odour. Charlie leant over and kissed her sweetly on her nose, and grinned as he felt her breathing slow almost instantly.

"How much longer is this going to take you?" he asked, his voice low and husky, betraying his feelings as he scooted around the bench until he was behind her stool. He rubbed her shoulders, and heard her purr as the tension disappeared under his magic touch.

"Hmm…at this rate, it won't be done at all. If I get up now, I should be done in an hour. I only have to add the Jakelope spleens to both and stir anticlockwise until the mixtures become paste."

She got up again and waved as Charlie ducked into the medi-tent through the single wooden door of the room, before turning back to her ingredients and sighing, rolling her eyes to the heavens as she continued where she'd left off.

* * *

**AN**: I hope that's an appropriate place to leave things...Chapter 10 could be another long wait I'm afraid. It's been suggested to me to find a Charlie of my own to protect me from evil schoolteachers piling work :P but until I find him, A Levels come first.

Review? Please? puppydog eyes of hope


	10. The Letter

**AN: Okay, there is no way in the world I can say sorry for waiting SO FREAKING LONG to update- what can I say? My A levels are driving me crazy, I have 1 month until my exams and I'm kinda freaking out a little. So to make it up to all you amazing people (especially the ones who review cos it makes me feel loved XD) here's chapter 10!**

**I got 32 reviews for the last chapter- what do you say we go for 35 minimum? There are 176 lovely people on story alert, so it shouldn't be that difficult! XP**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Charlie found Rico waiting for him in his tent, his large, dragon hide boot-clad feet resting atop a hastily stacked pile of Charlie's various books on Dragon keeping, mythical creatures, medical handbooks and his favourite, a book which, once opened, acted like a muggle television, with scenes from the drama, romance, comedy, action, thriller….you name it, portrayed on each separate illustrated page.

"Charlie, mate! You going to tell me how it went in England? Though, judging by what you brought back, I can only assume it went very well indee- hey, why'd you throw that at me?"

Charlie laughed and sprawled out on his double bed, staring up at the ceiling, before he felt his pillow thwacked back down on his face. "Mmph! What was that for?" Now both men were laughing, before Rico sobered Charlie up with an all-too-serious question.

"Who is she, bro?" Charlie looked up at his best friend, caught off-guard by the question. Rico stood over the bed, towering high above Charlie, who still laid face-up on his blankets. A dull thump accompanied the pain of something heavy dropping onto Charlie's stomach and he glared up at Rico before reaching for the silver gilt photo frame atop his toned abdomen. Charlie glanced at the picture and winced, looking sheepishly up at Rico who had sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Is that, or is that not, a photograph of one of your brothers getting married?"

Charlie could only nod. When Rico was on the warpath it was best to keep your head down and say as little as possible or risk the loss of your most important assets, if you get my drift.

"And is that, or is that not Harry Potter on the left of said brother, acting as best man?"

Charlie gulped and nodded, feeling like a small child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"And to the right, oh! Is that, could that be…but no! Not Charlie's sweet new girlfriend Hermione Granger!"

Okay, now Charlie had had enough.

"Fine! Yes, Ron, my youngest brother and Hermione got married a couple of years ago. It didn't work out."

"Didn't work out?" Something else, thankfully much lighter than the solid silver frame, flopped onto Charlie's stomach. His relief was short-lived, however, as he realised that the thing on his stomach was a red envelope, the corners of which were smoking slightly… It exploded, both men diving hastily to the floor, covering their ears. Nevertheless, Charlie couldn't fail to recognise his mother's shrill voice yelling at him through the howler.

"CHARLES WEASLEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, SNEAKING AROUND BEHIND YOUR POOR RONNIE'S BACK WITH THAT LYING LITTLE TROLLOP! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU YOU WILL REGRET EVEN _THINKING _ABOUT DRAGONS! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR? IF YOU DON'T SEND HER BACK TO THE BURROW _RIGHT NOW _NEITHER OF YOU WILL EVER BE WELCOME HOME AGAIN!"

The letter shrivelled, the smell of acrid smoke making Charlie cough. Helping him to his feet, Rico shoved another envelope into his hands. He turned it over in his hands and looked back at his friend.

"It's for Hermione."

"So give it to her." Rico turned without another word, leaving the tent without a backward glance.

Charlie flopped backwards onto his bed, staring at the canopy above him as he sighed. Not good.

……………

Hermione scooped the last of the second potion into a series of glass jars, which sat smoking slightly on the bench in front of her. To her left stood a row of jars containing a purple gloop which bubbled wetly, giving off a powerful stench of rotten eggs- hence their removal to the other end of the bench. The other set of jars had a lighter consistency, the light green ointment smelling faintly of lemon and mint.

Hermione sighed, satisfied with her work. She wondered briefly about her old job. Someone should be told that she was in Romania, after all, and that she didn't really want to leave. Wait, had she just thought that? Didn't she want to leave, and go back to her nice, risk-free desk job in an air-conditioned building three storeys underground? Or did she really want to stay out in the late-summer sun on a dragon reserve (which was much more dangerous) in Romania, where air-conditioning was of the more natural wind kind?

Hmm…She'd think about that later. She wanted to take some jars over to Charlie's tent and surprise him before giving the rest over to that grumpy old woman.

Walking out of the tent a minute later, she looked around, trying to get her bearings. Geography wasn't on the list as one of her most accomplished attributions. Despite her parents having taken her on holidays to places like the Forest of Dean deep in the British countryside, she was next to useless with a muggle map- without her wand she was pretty much lost. Still, she managed to locate his tent after just 10 minutes search- he'd pointed it out to her on their way in. The canvas doorway fluttered slightly in the breeze, taped to the sides of the entrance by red rope which matched the red and yellow stripes of the tent exterior.

Hermione ducked inside, not bothering to call out in the hopes of sneaking up behind him. Unfortunately, she didn't count on head-butting someone's abdominal muscles as she tried to straighten up. Dazedly, she cricked her neck and looked up. However, the brief realisation that the abdominal muscles in question were some very fine specimens indeed made her forget to straighten up first. Only after the pain of bending so strangely managed to permeate her startled brain did she realise what a deranged hunchback she must resemble, and stumbled forwards in her haste to look vaguely human and not so much like some un-evolved primate.

Charlie chuckled quietly, his eyebrows quirked playfully above laughing eyes.

"Oh, sorry, Charlie…I just…yeah, um, I finished the potions and thought I'd…you know…drop by? Though obviously, you can see that, because I'm here, so really I should just stop talking…yeah, good idea." She was babbling, and worse still, she knew it. She rubbed her head, the universal sign for "that was one hell of a bang on the head; please ignore my ravings, I'm temporarily insane".

Surprisingly, Charlie stopped laughing and silently levitated her jars of gloop from her hands onto a nearby coffee table, replacing them with the letter Rico had given him just minutes before. Still a little dazed by her brief encounter with Charlie's midriff, Hermione took the letter absentmindedly, choosing instead to wander vaguely around the tent.

It was the size of a large flat, with a living-room, kitchen and separate dining area occupying the main space. To her left, two openings in the bright canvas walls led onto bedrooms. The first was neat and tidy, bare of any personal effects, the bed made with fresh sheets. The other was untidy, stacks of books littering the floor around a decidedly unmade bed, the covers thrown off, trailing slightly on the plush red carpet which had been laid throughout the tent.

"This is your room?" she asked tentatively, turning to find him right behind her. Startled, she took a step backwards and nearly tripped. Charlie reached out and, once again, caught her.

"I'm making a habit of this." Hermione grinned, somewhat relieved not to have fallen, yet still embarrassed at the familiarity of the occurrence. A pink tinge graced her cheeks before she could come back with any retort.

"At least it's a good habit. How would I feel if you chose instead to watch and laugh as I fell?"

"True. I'll do my best to remain useful to you; your personal catcher for what is becoming an almost daily ritual of tripping over. Are you always this clumsy, or can I be assured that it is merely my awesome manliness which is causing you to swoon on sight?"

Hermione frowned and punched him on the shoulder, wriggling out of his grasp and diving onto a sofa with a giggle. And a wriggle. And finally a sigh.

"Merlin, dragon keepers are kept in luxury- goose feathers in the sofa cushions?"

"Only the best- our mortality rate is as high as an auror's, you know. We earn our keep."

"Mmm. Lucky for some…I could get used to this."

Much as he loved to hear the pretty young witch hint at her wanting to stay in Romania, he was getting impatient.

"Open the letter I gave you. Rico left it about ten minutes ago." Charlie leapt over the back of the sofa so that he sat close to Hermione, who nudged him playfully before resting her head on his shoulder.

"You child. Hey, what-" She'd succeeded in opening the letter and unfolding the parchment. She became strangely rigid, her breathing fast and shallow. Wordlessly she passed it over to Charlie, who scanned it quickly, blue eyes darting from side-to-side.

Dear _**Ms Hermione Granger**_

It is my duty to inform you that, hereafter, the ties of marriage between _**Ms Hermione Jean Weasley (née Granger)**_ and _**Mr Ronald Bilius Weasley**_, including the joint ownership of the following assets, are no longer binding. Unless stated otherwise, _**Mr Ronald Bilius Weasley**_ now has full ownership of the following:

_**21 St. James' Square, Exton**_ (former shared residence) and all possessions therein, excluding:

_**The Library contents of 21 St. James' Square, Exton**_

_**Crookshanks (the household pet)**_

As _**Ms Hermione Jean Weasley (née Granger)**_ and _**Mr Ronald Bilius Weasley**_ kept separate Gringotts accounts, a divorce settlement regarding money (as opposed to other possessions termed as 'assets' within this letter) is not necessary. However, the option to sue _**Mr Ronald Bilius Weasley**_ for infidelity is open for 31 days after the receiving of this letter.

Kindest regards

_**W.J Simpkins**_

_Magical Law Enforcement Office, the Ministry of Magic, Central London_

_(P.S: Ms Granger, would it be possible to send me your autograph for my granddaughter? She's such a fan of 'The Golden Trio' – yours, Wilber Simpkins)_

Charlie chuckled drily, causing Hermione to look up, affronted.

"What?"

"Despite the divorce, you've still got a fan base. I'd say that was pretty good going, wouldn't you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, the ghost of a smile gracing her mouth, although it didn't reach her eyes.

"Hmph. Yeah, well, I wonder what state Ron's fan mail will be in when everyone hears about this letter."

"Can't wait." Charlie slid a comforting arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she sighed involuntarily before stiffening once more.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

"I can't do this, Charlie. It feels wrong." Struggling to extract herself from the deep cushions, Hermione levered herself up from the sofa and made for the coffee table, picking up each jar one by one and cradling them in her arms. She felt hands closing around her wrists, but couldn't see past the unshed tears which she only realised were there when one spilled down her cheek.

"What do you mean 'it feels wrong'?" he whispered. Looking up, she noticed the hurt, almost crushed, expression on his handsome, freckled face. His hands were still around her wrists, encircling them easily with palms crossed with raised lines- scars from his dragon exploits. He squatted behind the table, looking back at Hermione's face with a mixture of hurt and confusion, his blue eyes serious.

"I just didn't think…"

"Hermione. Listen to me. If you're regretting the divorce for some reason-"

"I'm not, okay!" She knew she was yelling, but she couldn't help it anymore. Suddenly the tent walls, which had seemed bright and cheerful when she had entered mere minutes ago, were now dark and oppressive. She dumped the jars back down on the table and stood up, Charlie mirroring her actions warily, like he would with a dragon having a tantrum.

"In fact, I'm glad that letter came! Goodbye to boring Hermione's boring life, with her boring job, her boring husband, her boring fucking cat...and hello to the new me! Whoop-

de-fucking-do, Hermione's run off with her ex's brother and gone to get herself a brand new life."

"Mione! You're not making any sense, here! What's the matter, if you're so clearly happy about the divorce?"

They were nose to nose, shouting into each others' faces. For good measure, Charlie reached out and shook her. Out of all the Weasley men, Charlie had the fiercest temper. True, his gentle nature meant that it was rarely seen, but when his temper was unleashed onto the world, boy, was it unleashed.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, unmoving, tears running silently down hot red cheeks, lips trembling from the effort of not making a noise. The moment he truly realised what he'd done, however, he reached out and engulfed her in a hug.

"I'm sorry, Mione, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, I know. I'm just so scared that you're going to lose…I dunno…lose yourself. In this divorce, you know? And I don't want to lose you, not now I've finally …I'm sorry, Mione, I really, truly am."

All this was spoken into her unruly hair, his chin pressed firmly into her forehead, her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. She mumbled something, and he released her, noticing with some surprise that his own eyes were a little wet. He dried them hastily on his sleeve.

"I'm running away, Charlie." It was a statement, one he didn't respond to, so she continued, hesitantly at first, but then more confidently. Their arms were still wrapped each other as they stood together in the middle of the living room.

"I'm…running away from my responsibilities…my life…my _morals_, even. I mean, how must this look? My blaming Ron for having an affair before filing for divorce and running off with his older brother to god (and, obviously, your mother) knows where in front of the press."

She paused for breath and Charlie chuckled weakly. When she put it like that, no wonder she was freaking out. At the time, Romania had seemed like the best place to take her, to keep her safe. Now it seemed that he could only take her so far – he could get rid of his family and the press, but he couldn't take her thoughts away from her head.

"Look, I'm happy I've got rid of Ron- it just wasn't going to happen…like that… for us. I hope that, who knows, one day we can look back on it as friends again, and laugh about 'the marriage that didn't work out' or whatever. It's just…I need some more time to get my head around it," she noticed the quirk of the eyebrows and grinned a little. "Yes, even _my_ head needs time to get round some things. Can we…this sounds so stupid and cliché, but-"

"You wanna be friends for a bit?" He was disappointed, sure he was. All Charlie could do was look down at this beautiful young woman and want to hug her, to keep her safe and…do some stuff that was definitely not PG rated. But if this kept her safe and happy for a little while, giving her some space…he could cope. Not forever, but he trusted her enough to let him know what was happening between the two of them. It could be good…they could have their 'first kiss' again, and Merlin, would he enjoy that.

All Hermione could do was smile sheepishly and nod her curls, thinking along the same lines but not wanting to admit it. Charlie kissed the top of her head and drew her into a friendly embrace.

"Right then, chum…nope. I _refuse_ to call you chum. Buddy? Pal?" It was as if nothing had happened. Hermione caught on quickly, tapping her foot with mock impatience, twirling her wand absent-mindedly through the air. Charlie reeled off a list of random 'friendly' names, eliciting a proper smile from them both. She sighed and raised an eyebrow, only spoiling the effect slightly by laughing two seconds later as Charlie took a sweeping bow.

"Hallelujah! Yes sir, I got it! C'mon, _partner_- Madame Grouch awaits!" Charlie levitated the jars once more and steered Hermione out of the tent flaps. She rolled her eyes and allowed him to lead her out into the busy camp, arms around each other, laughing as they discussed the many connotations of the word 'partner'. This would do…for now.

* * *

**AN: Okay! Hope you liked- I made it especially long to make up for my extended absence! Clicky the button? Stroking my lovely plot bunnies gives inspiration, so please give my inspiration etc. as well as asking any questions cos I'll definately reply, no problem!**


	11. Hoping, Fighting and Hoping some more

**AN: What can I say? Not much that can convince people that I'm not a horrible person, I know. So I apologise for everything. **

**So hey, here goes nothing...**

**(I don't really own any of this, so that statement is depressingly accurate.)**

Charlie stared down at the table, his strong fingers absent-mindedly tracing the grain pattern of the wood as he sat, slumped in his favourite and most comfortable easy-chair to one side of the great fireplace, from which large yellow flames crackled merrily, bathing the inn in a warmth at odds with the evening autumn chill outside. Despite the noisy chatter washing over him from all sides as excitable pub-goers conversed over pints of butterbeer, his corner of the bar was largely empty, and for that he was thankful - he needed to think quietly to himself. He sighed heavily, picking up his own glass and bringing it to his lips, more to have something to do with his hands than anything.

Hermione. She was all he could think about. From the moment he woke up, to the minute he closed his eyes in exhausted sleep, her face swam into every conscious thought, distracting him, torturing him. She had decided to stay on at the reserve, after her potion was given reluctant praise from Madame Toulouse and the keepers themselves, and she handed her resignation into the ministry by owl post, effective immediately.

Charlie had offered her his spare room, and she had gladly accepted the offer, not really knowing anyone else on the reserve. Saying that, Hermione had already become quite popular with the staff on the reserve after her potion expertise became known. A little too popular with some of the male members if you asked Charlie, but a quiet word with the more eager keepers had left no one in any doubt that Hermione belonged to nobody, with the possible exception of Charlie Weasley, and the warnings to lay off the pretty new potioneer had spread.

Still, Hermione had her friends, most notably Olga Pierson, who often came into the potion room to chat with Hermione over a cup of tea. Rico and Ed were also firm favourites of Hermione's, their endless banter with Charlie making her laugh harder than she ever had before, and on an almost daily basis. Although she had remained slightly distrustful of Isabelle regarding her rather 'friendly' behaviour around Charlie, Hermione was forced to admit that the stunningly beautiful witch was charming, funny and intelligent, and happily accepted her friendship, for which Charlie was extremely thankful for. He didn't think that Isabelle would last long against Hermione's fierce intellect, although Rico was quick to point out that Isabelle was no pushover and could put up a good fight.

Charlie had been even more apprehensive about Hermione's reaction to the youngest keeper on the reserve; a quiet, pale man of roughly Hermione's own age, who had introduced himself somewhat sarcastically as "Zane Yaxley-Smith, son of the notorious death eater." At first Hermione had recoiled, but Zane had laughed at her horrified expression, and explained that he had never really known his father, having lived with his mother and twin sister in Romania since the age of fifteen. Hermione found, surprisingly, that here was another member of the team she could call her friend, despite the painful reminders, and revelled in her new-found popularity.

One evening at the end of her first week, Hermione had been sat writing a letter to the Ministry tendering her resignation (effective immediately), on the sofa with Charlie, when she broke the companionable silence to ask him how this came to be, unused as she was to having more than a couple of close friends. He had laughed, wondering why she would have to ask such a question, whilst privately listing in his head all the reasons why he thought she was the most wonderful witch on earth.

"_Beautiful, intelligent, charming, hard-working, funny – even when she didn't mean to be, deep-thinking, a good friend, hot as hell in those pyjama shorts..."_

"Charlie?"

"Huh?" He blinked his eyes back into focus to find her gazing in confusion at his expression, and mentally shook himself awake.

"To tell you the truth, it's because people admire you," he smiled, ignoring her disbelieving scoff. "They admire your work ethic, you know? You've got something to do and you get it done. No nonsense, no fuss. In this business, that sort of thing is important, and you're a natural."

He reached out an arm to pull her into a one-armed hug, silently wishing he could do more that hug her like he would his little sister Ginny. His mind wandered back to their first embrace, underneath the apple tree at The Burrow less than a month ago. Already it seemed like a lifetime. And yet Hermione was still sitting next to him, her eyes like pools of melted chocolate, still staring up at him with that same expression of confusion and fragility, her body still curled up into his…nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.

They'd gone full circle, Charlie sighed to himself. Was wanting to get back to where they'd left off, on her first day in Romania, such a bad thing? He was resolved to stay friends with her until she was ready.

Their lives had taken on a pattern since that day. Every morning they would wake up in their separate rooms, shower and dress one after the other in the shared bathroom (ladies first), before sitting down for breakfast together in the tent's spacious kitchen. They would converse quite happily with each other, tucking in to Charlie's home-made and deliciously-bad-for-you fry up before parting ways at 9 ; Hermione to the lab, Charlie to the enclosures. Then they'd meet up with friends for lunch in the catering tent, finish chores for the day and return to the tent for supper. Hermione had discovered Charlie to be a fantastic cook, and had quickly relinquished any claims on his kitchen as his new tent-mate. She often joked that she only stayed on because of the cooking, but they both knew the truth.

Well, they knew two truths. The first was that Hermione loved her new job. She found it liberating to set her own timetable, to be her own boss. It seemed ridiculous now that she should have wasted so much of her life at the ministry, the memories of which were already fading away; replaced with the new life she had begun only a week ago, at the end of August. She could order whatever books she needed, and was paid to sit and read them from cover to cover before putting that information into practise in the potion lab. She was in heaven, and came back to the tent, her new home (even that sounded good), every evening with a stack of books under her arm, and sat by the fire to read, research and learn.

Sometimes Charlie would sit with her, sometimes reading out loud interesting passages with obvious interest, sometimes content to listen to her read to him. That was the other truth. Charlie. It was obvious to both of them that there was something special between them, yet neither was quite willing to act on it. Not yet, anyway.

To him, admitting his feelings would be the utmost in disrespect to her- she'd come out of a messy divorce with his little idiot of a brother and was still getting over it, even after the month they'd spent together as 'partners' on the reserve. To her, the idea of harbouring feelings for Ronald's elder brother would be a black mark in her book of perfect morals. And Hermione Jean Granger NEVER got black marks of any kind in her books. Well, unless you count her divorce from Ronald…but she wouldn't think about that, and he knew better than to bring it up.

But there it was, undeniably: their mutual attraction for each other. Countless times Charlie would sit with her by the fire, legs tucked up with hers on those goose down cushions she loved so much, just watching her as she read, with the firelight making her dark, sorrowful eyes dance and sparkle.

Those were his favourite times, and also his most hated. He loved the way she'd let down her guard and be herself, surrendering to her book and her close proximity to Charlie with apparent enjoyment; discussing, disagreeing and forming opinions on anything and everything under the sun. But he hated the way she would unintentionally brush limbs with him as she shifted position on the couch, and the way locks of chestnut hair would fall into her face- curls which he was just dying to push back behind her ear, but couldn't. She was driving him crazy, and she didn't know it.

That was what had driven him down to the wizarding inn in the centre of the nearby village, where Rico found him after roughly 3 hours of solid moping in a corner of the bar, three empty glasses littering his table.

"For Merlin's sake, Charlie!" he sighed, heaving himself into the armchair opposite the miserable redhead. Charlie glared at the intrusion and lifted his hand in such a violent movement that liquid spilled over his hand, the table and down the shirt he wore under his robes.

"Charlie, this is stupid."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I know this is hard on you, what it's costing you to-"

"You know fuck all, Rico," Charlie muttered darkly, standing up and pushing his way through the crowds of witches and wizards, who gave him a few wary glances as he passed by. "You don't know what it's like, being around someone you like _all the time_, knowing that they know how you feel, and knowing that there's a chance that they feel the same- but not able to do anything…it's so, so _stupid._"

The two men had made their way outside the inn by now, Rico half dragging Charlie out of the door to prevent the scene which was sure to follow, had they remained. The American dragon keeper had only witnessed Charlie's temper unleashed a couple of times, but it was enough to know that a pissed off Charlie could be a dangerous one; and a danger to himself if he was left to stew like this.

Charlie continued his rant as they made their way to a bench at the side of the building, gesticulating wildly as he went, hardly feeling Rico's hand tugging his sturdy jacket forwards as he ploughed on.

"It's just not bloody _fair_, that as soon as I find a woman as perfect as she is, she's gone. Put firmly in the 'friend category' like there was never anything there. But there _was_- there _is_!" Charlie sunk down onto the old wooden bench, slumped with his head cradled in strong, worn hands, his rage gone. Rico joined him silently, observing his best friend go to pieces. Over a woman he had only known for a couple of weeks. Worse than he thought. After a moment of letting Charlie dwell on his issues, he touched him gently on the shoulder.

"I know. I _do_ know what it's like, trust me."

Charlie turned his head, his eyebrows raised- whether in surprise or disbelief, Rico wasn't sure. His long red hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it away in frustration, not caring that it stuck out at odd angles. He wondered briefly if Hermione would laugh if she could see his hair now, before shaking his head to get rid of the sound of her giggling- a rare but exquisitely beautiful noise…

"Weasley!"

"Huh?"

"Oh come ON Charlie, I couldn't be more obvious about it if I tried, short of tattooing her name on my arse along with the words 'I love you, be mine'!" Rico was the one looking pissed now, practically wringing his hands. Clearly, he assumed that Charlie's loss of focus had been concentration, rather than reminiscence.

Charlie managed to give a weak chuckle at this, pulling himself out of his depression with almost visible effort. He nudged the man on his right with his elbow, eyes crinkling as he watched.

"C'mon then, who is she?" He held up his hands in surrender as Rico glared at him with what could only be described as murderous intent. "I swear, I don't know. I've been kinda preoccupied recently, you may have noticed-"

"No shit. Every time Hermione flippin' Granger enters the room, your eyes light up like it's Christmas morning and-" Charlie huffed.

"Yeah, well-"

"-and every time she leaves," Rico continued as though there had been no interruption, "you check the door every couple 'o seconds in case she decides to pop back in for a chat with her favourite dragon kee-"

Charlie growled, lunging for the older man and, catching him off guard, pinning him to the cool grassy bank by the side of the pathway, hands holding his wrists tightly above his head, sitting on the man's stomach to prevent escape.

"_Who_?"

Despite his best efforts to look serious, Rico was laughing, and Charlie was laughing right along with him. It felt good to laugh. Relationships at the reserve had all been strained recently. The British Ministry was still refusing to grant a non-muggle buffer zone around the reserve (clearly, Charlie and Hermione's actions at the Ministry hadn't helped, and space restrictions were pushing the dragons closer and closer together. Only last week, a Chinese fireball had come across a breeding Scottish Blue and her clutch of eggs, and the resulting fight had left the fireball blind in one eye and the eggs crushed into dust.

Charlie rolled onto his back with a heavy thud, all the fight and boisterous laughter gone from him. Rico pulled himself up into a sitting position, pulling the taller redhead with him.

"Olga."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"We're hopeless, aren't we?"

Rico let out a barking laugh and clapped Charlie on his shoulder. "No shit."

* * *

Hermione groaned sleepily, attempting to stretch out her cramped limbs from her position curled up on the sofa in Charlie's tent, where she had obviously fallen asleep in front of the roasting fire. She blinked hard against her foggy vision as she gazed about the canvas walls and over the plush carpeted floor, noting the pile of books on Wizard/Dragon histories and various old and dusty tomes dedicated to spells and potions which she had heaved out of the rather neglected Reserve library earlier that day. Contemplating just going straight back to sleep and dealing with the work in the morning (what _was_ the reserve doing to her?) a sort of whooshing roar came to her ears and she sat bolt upright, scrabbling blindly under the cushions for her wand as the flames in the fireplace turned emerald green.

"What the-"

A tall redheaded wizard stepped out of the fireplace, dusting off his robes and looking around before his eyes, a watery blue, met Hermione's intense brown.

"Hello Hermione. Mum said you'd be here."

Hermione tried to find her voice, but the air had all been choked from her lungs and the only sound she could make was a sort of hoarse growl. She brandished her wand instead, hoping to convey the passionate loathing she held for the man she used to love.

That thought surprised her. Yes, he'd been unfaithful, and he clearly didn't love her with the same fierceness, respect, pride and devotion as he had when they'd exchanged vows three years ago- three and a half, now really. But deep down, she thought that, underneath her hatred, she'd still love him, till death do we part, like she promised him at the wedding. But here he stood, Ronald Bilius Weasley, in the flesh, not ten feet away from her. And nothing except the pain and grief he'd caused her could penetrate her mind and body.

If anything, that thought gave her strength. Hermione Granger stood straight, shoulders squared, facing Ron with a determination and power in her eyes that she hadn't unleashed since their school days. When she spoke, her voice was oddly calm.

"What do you want, Ronald?"

Clearly, Ron had not been expecting this, and he faltered. Hermione noted with interest the half-step backwards, the hand clutching his wand in the pocket of his robes, but said nothing. Her own wand dangled, waiting, by her side, and this was given a wary glance before he spoke.

"Mum said you'd be here," he repeated, looking as though he was about to sit down in the nearest available armchair. However, one look at Hermione's blazing eyes and arched eyebrow made him think better of the idea, and he settled for leaning against the mantle with an easy stance at odds with his feeling of unease. "I'm glad you're on your own-"

Hermione laughed mirthlessly, and her voice was slow when she spoke, not wanting her ex-husband to miss a word. "So am I. I don't want any witnesses when I murder your sorry arse for fucking around behind my back. How dare you do that to me, and how dare you presume to just floo into my house, when you are so clearly not wanted. You make me sick, Ronald Weasley. I don't want to see you, or hear from you, ever again. I want you to leave and never come back."

If Ron was shaken, he didn't let it show. His own eyebrow arched as he opened his mouth, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth despite her hostile threats. "You don't mean that, Mione, you could never want me gone forever. And please be civil- I'm making an effort here, you might try it sometime."

Hermione's furious mouth flew open to unleash a vicious tirade on his ears, which had turned bright red with the effort of staring down his wife. Ex wife. Whatever. Ron held up freckled hands in front of his chest to postpone Hermione's shouts of outrage and probable hexes and curses she was sure to send his way in the near future.

"Last time I looked, this was Charlie's house, not yours. I have as much right to be here as you- more, even, cos we're _related_."

He placed careful stress on the words, watching as brown eyes pooled with angry, heartbroken tears.

"What the _fuck_ is going on in here?"

Charlie took one look at the scene- his kid brother staring down the beautiful witch in defiant anger, her eyes filling with unshed tears that threatened to spill over at any second- and strode over to the fireplace.

Ron opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He watched in silent horror as a large fist flew at his face, connecting with his long nose. _Pain_. His nose gave a horrible, sickening crunch, the force of the blow toppling him backwards onto the hard flagstones of the hearth, where his head landed heavily. The brightly coloured roof swam in and out of focus for a couple of seconds before everything dimmed and went black.

* * *

**AN: So there you have it...I thought some Ron-beating might be appreciated :P I love him really, I just happen to love incredibly hot Dragon-Keepers a hell of a lot more**

**Please review. I know I'm a bad person, but reviews make me happy, and generate more chapters much faster than if left to my own devices (obviously. I have proof now!)**

**Much love ES xxx**


End file.
